George the Greytown Wizard

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George, the grey town wizard
electronic version
ISBN 978-0-6453018-0-9
© 2004 Caroline Ambrus
published by irrePRESSible Press
web site: www.irrepressible.space
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
performing, storage in an information retrieval system, or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher
and the copyright holder. Application for such permission
should be addressed to the publisher. Where copies of
part or the whole of this book are made under Section 53B
or Section 53D of the Copyright Act 1968, the law requires
that records of such copying be kept and the copyright holder
is entitled to claim payment.
The author wishes to acknowledge Kaaren Sutcliffe’s assistance
in assessing and editing the manuscript.
key words: juvenile fiction, colour, magic, community,
townships
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George, the grey town wizard
written and illustrated
by Caroline Ambrus
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CONTENTS
section one — the teasing, page 7
section two — the fog, page 9
section three — the grey town, page 11
section four — the spell, page 13
section five — the delegation, page 15
section six — the depression, page 19
section seven — getting practice, page 21
section eight — the church, page 25
section nine — the Council, page 27
section ten — Rhiannon, page 29
section eleven — the musicians, page 31
section twelve — the artist, page 33
section thirteen — flashes of colour, page 37
section fourteen — the deep sleep, page 39
section fifteen — the grey curse cure, page 41
section sixteen — success, page 43
section seventeen — the end, page 47
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George, the grey town wizard
The illustrations in this book are mostly black and white. In the olden days
before computers and other similar things were invented, books were printed
on a printing press, thanks to Mr Caxton. It was very expensive to print coloured
pictures so many books were printed in black and white. So I, as the
author and illustrator of this book, created it in mainly black and white so that
it could be printed and sold cheaply.
The invention of computer changed all of that. Coloured pictures are an instant
reality which has added another dimension to every day life today. However
this story of how the town of Wannabe lost its colour has a deeper meaning
than the economics of printing presses. The story traces how Wannabe
became Betterbe through the efforts of one magician, one artist and the towns
people who learned to love their town and the extraordinary people who lived
in it.
This story is also set in ancient times when magic was real and imagination
made the impossible, possible. This story is dedicated to the real Rhiannon,
my grand daughter whose artistic efforts are gobsmackingly good.
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the teasing
George was a wizard with ambition. He wanted to be the most famous
wizard the town of Wannabe had ever known. In fact, he was the only wizard,
as the town was too small to warrant two wizards. So it didnʼt matter whether
George was a good or a bad wizard, since there was no competition.
Now if he had been a well-to-do wizard, he would have attended a college to
learn wizardry. He also would have attended the wizardsʼ conventions held in
the capitals every year. But George was poor. He lived in a little house in an
unfashionable part of the town. Being a self-taught wizard, George muddled
along. Most of the time his spells didnʼt work. But sometimes, with the simplest
of spells, he would have a small success. So he would try even harder.
The main problem with George was that he was that he was not quite a boy,
and not quite a man. He was at the awkward in-between stage. His body had
grown faster than his brain and, as a result, he was both clumsy and impatient,
which was mostly the reason why his spells didnʼt work.
The people of the town thought George was a bit of a joke. They laughed at
him behind his back and sometimes to his face, which made him feel very
miserable.
“Why do you laugh at me?” he would shout, raising his fists in anger.
“Really George! Your spells are a fizzer and your clothes — those pantaloons
above your knees are a fashion challenge,” they would reply, giggling.
“When are you going to grow into long pants?” somebody asked mockingly.
“Iʼll get long pants when I have enough money to pay the tailor and I donʼt
know why Iʼm telling you this — itʼs none of your business”, George would
reply in a fury. The people laughed at him again.
George decided to take the confrontation one step further. “You people canʼt
talk,” he fumed. “Look at the way you trash your town. Nobody wants to pick
up the bottles and paper you litter all over the place. Nobody wants to paint
fences or weed gardens or keep the town tidy. Youʼre a greedy lot. All you care
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about is making money. None of you love this town. Be careful,” he warned
darkly, “bad things can happen to people when they donʼt take care. ”
“You donʼt frighten us with your magical double talk. Youʼre supposed to be
the magician. Why donʼt you wave your magic wand and bingo! all cleaned
up. That is if you do have a magic wand,” a big fat man shouted, his face
turning red.
“You are fools,” George shouted over his shoulder as he stomped off in a
pessimistic mood. If somebody had put a half a glass of water in front of him
that day, he would have said that the glass was half empty instead of being
half full. When he arrived home, he sat at his table, his head in his hands. His
confidence was at an all time low, yet again. At least he felt comfortable and
safe in his own kitchen. It was here that he did most of his spells.
“I donʼt know why I canʼt get spells right,” he complained to himself. Last
week George had tried to turn a green frog a bright shade of pink. The frog,
who really didnʼt mind being the subject of Georgeʼs experiments, turned out
to be a pale lilac.
When the frog croaked, George thought it said, “you need a little more of the
cranberry juice Instead of the lemon juice, and I think the flies you use are
probably not the right kind.”
Instead of being pleased that he had almost managed to almost get the colour
right, George sulked and said rude words to himself under his breath in his
disappointment. If he had been a more mature wizard, he would have tried this
spell again instead of tackling one that was far more difficult. George had not
learned the wisdom of doing things again to find out where they went wrong.
“I have a problem,” George sighed and told himself. “Nobody in this town is
going to respect me until I can get spells right.”
the fog
That cold winter night a poisonous fog descended on Wannabe. It was ++≠
so thick and grey that it blotted out the moon. Poisonous drops fell on the
town clerk who was walking his dog along the overgrown, cracked paths that
criss-crossed the town park.
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The fog drifted over the owls keeping watch over Wannabe from the oak trees,
turning them to a greyer shade of grey. Then the fog settled on the green frogs
who lived in the parkʼs pond, turning them grey. The green grass around the
pond turned grey. Gradually that dark night, the fog spread all over Wannabe,
turning everything and everybody it touched to a monotonous shade of grey.
By morning there was not a sliver of colour to be found anywhere in that
miserable town.
When George awoke that morning, the first thing he remembered was the
confrontation in the street the previous day. Then he remembered the dreadful
vision he had dreamed during the night about Wannabe turning grey. He
blinked his eyes and rubbed them with his grey hand. When he was fully
awake, George looked at his hand in astonishment. He looked around his
grey bedroom. He raced to the mirror and his grey reflection stared back at
him in horror.
“Some black wizard had turned me and my house all grey,” he roared. Then
he went outside and was even more shocked to see that everything was grey.
He went for a frantic walk around town to find that every street was grey, every
tree, every blade of grass, every bird, every person and even the sky was grey.
the grey town
The Town Clerk had not noticed that everything had turned grey. He was
busy calculating how much money the new taxes imposed on the town would
raise. Suddenly his wife cried in anguish when their daughter got out of bed
that morning. “My daughterʼs beautiful red hair has turned to grey.” Then she
looked in the mirror, “My own hair has turned to grey!” She screamed and
fainted.
“Oh my goodness!” the Town Clerk said. “Perhaps the new taxes are really
too high.” Then he became deeply distressed “I canʼt see the colour of my
money,” he complained bitterly to the slumped form of his unconscious wife.
When the rest of the townspeople awoke, it was as though their worst
nightmares had come true. “Whatʼs happened to our town?” they asked each
other in bewilderment. They quickly forgot their plans for the day and joined
the gathering crowd in the grey town square.
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The Town Clerk and his wife hurried to the square. People shouted at him,
“This is a matter for the Council. Itʼs up to our elected representatives to fix
up this mess.”
Another person suggested, “Perhaps Wannabe is not the only town thatʼs
grey. Perhaps Gottabe and Longtobe are grey. Perhaps the whole world is
grey.” People fell silent at such a depressing prospect.
The Town Clerk called out, “Silence! Thereʼs no point in jumping to conclusions.
The first thing to do is to check out how far this grey contagion has spread.
Then weʼll form a committee to evaluate and report on the issue before Council
contemplates any action.” People agreed that this was the best thing to do.
They congratulated themselves on electing such capable and wise leaders
as the Town Clerk, the Mayor and all the Councillors.
As soon as the council offices had opened for business in the nearby towns
the Town Clerk confirmed that Wannabe was the only town that had turned
grey. The other Town Clerks all said, “I donʼt believe it,” when they heard
about the town turning grey. In no time flat, Wannabe was flooded with curious
sightseers who came and looked and shuddered and quickly left.
the spell
George hurried home from the meeting in the town square, his mind racing.
“It must be a spell inflicted on the town by some mischievous magician, Iʼll bet.
But what can be done, can be undone,” he told the world, ”and I, George the
magician, can do the undoing. I will bring back colour to Wannabe.” George
did not realise it at the time, but the undoing of such grey devastation was
beyond a mere apprentice, self-taught magician. Even the most experienced
of magicians would have proceeded carefully before making such a grandiose
claim.
When George arrived home he pulled all his dusty books on every conceivable
kind of magic off the book shelves and started to read. After reading for three
days, six hours and twenty seven minutes, he found that the grey curse was
caused by:
Particles of human apathy and neglect drift up and collect in the
stratosphere. They cling together to form a poisonous grey mist. In
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times of unusual weather reversals, usually during the winter, this
mist is attracted to neglected, unloved towns. When it falls it will turn
everything grey.
“So,” George said to himself. “The grey curse is not the result of a magic spell.
Itʼs the fault of the townspeople for neglecting their town. But what was done
can be undone and I, George the magician, will do the undoing.” George loved
the sound of his own voice saying these brave words.
George went back to his books, seeking an cure for the grey disease. But he
could not find any mention of it. Not to be deterred, George continued reading
through piles of books. It was many more days before he found:
Two Part Cure On How To Restore Colour To Anything That Has
Been Contaminated By Poisonous Grey Mists.
Part 1: take one special person, put a pencil in hand and paper in
front and wait for the magic to work.
Part 2: the solution to permanent colours is only for the eyes of
the wise, for further information turn to page 101....”
He then looked for the rest of Part 2 of the cure, but there was no page 101
in the whole book. There was a page 100 and 102 but no 101. George looked
at the binding of the book to see if a page had been torn out. But this was not
the case. George was furious.
“Why is it that books of instructions always leaves out half of the information,”
he shouted at the piles of books. “Books of instructions are full of mysteries
and madness, revealing nothing,” he complained to the grey world outside
when he went for his morning walk.
the delegation
The people of Wannabe were very depressed. They had given up their
usual daily business of making as much money as they could. They argued
“What was the point of making money to buy beautiful things if the things
were no longer beautiful.” The town was very quiet. There was no longer the
bustle of business in the main street. People stayed at home and peered at
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the grey world through their lace curtains, only scurrying out to buy groceries.
Then one day, several weeks later, there was a knock on Georgeʼs door. He
opened it to find a group of the townʼs leading citizens, consisting of the Mayor,
the Town Clerk and all the people who accompanied them wherever they went.
“George,” the Mayor said, clearing his voice, his hat in his hands. “I am
leading this delegation to beg you to use your skills as a wizard and bring the
colour back into Wannabe. We have consulted with all the experts in grey
fog contaminations around the country, such as the wizards, the professors,
the scientists, the doctors and nobody can help us. We come to you as a last
resort. You live in this town. You know its people. You might be able to lead
us in the right direction.”
“Come in Mr. Mayor, Mr. Town Clerk and delegates. Come in to my humble
home and weʼll discuss the matter.” George led the way into his kitchen. He
quickly gathered his books off the chairs and table, making sure that the book
that mentioned the grey contamination was on the bottom of the stack.
After everyone was settled, George started to speak carefully. He did not wish
to let on that he had even some knowledge of how to reverse the grey curse.
“Mr. Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, my name is...” he began.
The Mayor interrupted, “donʼt worry about the formalities, George. Just give
us any information that you may have about this unfortunate occurrence.” But
George was not about to let the Mayor or any of his entourage push him into
making hasty statements.
“Well Mr. Mayor, itʼs like this,” George explained. “If all the experts donʼt know
what to do, how can you expect me, George the wizard, to undo what has
been done?”
The Mayor answered, “Now George if you truly love our town, you will do your
best to rid us of this grey affliction.”
“Mr. Mayor,” George replied, “Iʼm but a humble apprentice wizard. True, I can
do simple spells. However, reversing the grey curse requires a very advanced
knowledge of wizardry, which I donʼt have right now. In fact it is knowledge that
I, or any of my colleagues in the trade, may never acquire. It would require
a very advanced spell. All I know is how to move things around and up and
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down and other simple spells like that.”
In no time the word got around town that George was not willing to do anything
to reverse the grey curse. The gossip came from the Town Clerkʼs wife who
was getting her grey hair curled in a grey salon.
“Did you hear,” she said to the hairdresser, “that dreadful young wizard, George,
is unwilling to co-operate in reversing this nasty grey curse.”
Behind Georgeʼs back people said “If he canʼt bring the colour back to
Wannabe, whatʼs the good of his being the town wizard?” They became very
angry and blamed George for Wannabe being grey. The people reasoned
amongst themselves that if a wizard could move things around, then he would
be able to turn a town grey. While they concentrated on blaming George for
their miseries, they were not paying attention to what or who had really cursed
the town.
When George went for a walk the next morning, they released their savage
dogs from their yards and watched from behind the curtains as he tried to
dodge their snapping, snarling jaws.
the depression
Along with the rest of the population of Wannabe, George became
depressed. He gave up eating and shaving. Day by day he grew hairier and
skinnier. Sometimes he paced the floor and sometimes he sat for hours without
moving. He was in a sorry state.
Too afraid to face the angry townspeople, he stayed at home all the time,
talking to himself and the lab. rats he kept for company. The only times that
he was ventured out was at night, after everybody had gone to bed.
Every day he consulted his piles of useless books. He had read them all
several times trying to find the second half of the cure for the grey curse. He
even tried to invent his own version of a cure, but without the information he
needed, nothing was successful. The closest he got to changing the colour
of anything was turning a little grey mouse into a rather nasty shade of green,
which was most disappointing as he wanted the mouse to be its natural shade
of brown and brindled brown.
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Still George persisted. The flame of his ambition flickered weakly, but from time
to time it burned brightly. Those were the days when George would attempt
more difficult spells. He was slowly coming to a realisation that if he was to be
a successful wizard and solve the riddle of the grey curse, he needed more
practice. He went back to his self appointed task of trying to restore colour to
the mouse. This time the mouse turned pink.
After several more tries and several more failures, George decided that a
rainbow mouse was quite acceptable. But he was puzzled. He had worked
through the spell with exactitude. Something was missing. George went back
to his books, read them all again and, as before, he failed to locate the page
101 that was missing from the grey curse cure.
getting practice
Meanwhile, George avoided people. He went walking late at night when the
streets were deserted. He did not want to have a repeat of the savage dog
incident. He was not prepared to show his face until he had something to offer
by way of a cure. He had decided not to pursue it for the time being. He hoped
that if he did not mull over the problem, then a solution might present itself. He
was learning patience, which was the first step on the way to learning wisdom.
George spent his time practising other spells. He got some right first time.
His success rate was on the rise, which was a good thing. With success his
confidence increased. Gradually he worked towards more complex spells. The
first day he moved something through the air, George was very excited. He
was practising his levitation skills on the teapot. He had forgotten that it was
half full of warm tea. The teapot moved slowly at first then it whizzed around
the room in a circle. Then it stopped and dropped like a stone. The teapot
broke and splashed warm tea all over George. He didnʼt mind this.
After he changed his clothes, he had another go at the spell. After a bit of
practice he managed to get a cup and saucer flying through the air and landing
softly and exactly in front of him. George was elated. He shouted to himself
ʻBy george, George, you are a real wizard at last.” This success meant that
he was ready to learn the art of flying through the air.
He decided to try flying late one evening when the streets were deserted. The
wind was howling. George said to himself, “A bit of lift might help.” He was, after
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all, a rather big, heavy boy. He nervously reread the instructions for successful
flying. He went to the grey town park with his magic book clutched under his
arm. He reread the instructions again by the moonlight. The book said:
Complete Instructions For Flying and Landing
For Flying execute: Stand tall on tip toes, interlock fingers, stretch arms
high, repeat seven times, “flat chat, flat chat, fly like a bat, how about
that, fly in the sky, fly low and fly high.
For Landing execute: The reverse of the fore-going, hgih ylf dna wol ylf,
ysk eht ni ylf, taht ylf dna wol ylf, ysk eht ni ylf, taht.
No problem with the flying,” George muttered. “But the landing might prove
a bit tricky. How can I remember the spell for landing? Itʼs so complicated.”
George tried to repeat the tongue-twister several times and nearly got it right
by the seventh time. He decided that heʼd give it a try, hoping that his landings
would be softer than the teapotʼs. He decided to take his book with him, in
case he needed a quick refresher in mid-air.
The take off was perfect. George flew this way and that, upside down and
down side up. His joy was complete, after all, flying was a very advanced
skill. Then came the landing. George hit the ground with a bump, bump, bump
on his rear end. The two books on the art of flying he had tucked away in his
back pocket flew out in all directions. It was to be many days before he could
sit down.
“Oh well,” George told one of the lab. rats later. “It was worth it. I must get the
landings right. Then itʼll be perfect.” After several more flying experiments,
always late in the evenings, George stumbled on the secret of smooth landings.
Instead of repeating the reverse of the flying spell seven times, he tried it just
the once. It worked perfectly.
George grumbled to himself, “Books of instructions are full of mysteries and
madness. The magicians who wrote them probably wanted to keep some
secrets. This is not much help to an apprentice wizard.” What George did
not realise was that the books of spells left out information to teach the young
apprentices wisdom, patience and how to use their intelligence in completing
the words missing from the spells.
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the church
A couple of months had passed since Wannabe turned grey. One day
George, in his hunger for human companionship, disguised himself as a gypsy
and went to the local tavern. He sat at a table with somebody he once knew.
They had been friends until the man had set his dogs on George. George
decided to strike up a conversation.
“Strange town,” George said. “I see itʼs all grey, right to the townʼs edge. Then
the countryside turns green. Why do you think this is so?” he asked the man.
“Dunno,” the man said. He continued “But if it hadnʼt been for that stupid
wizard, we wouldnʼt be in this predicament. People say he turned the town
grey because one of his stupid spells didnʼt go right. But heʼs been gone for
months. Some say he left because he was afraid that people would beat him
up and throw him in jail ” Then the man looked closely at George. “Say, you
look a bit familiar. Is this the first time youʼve been here?”
George went a little pale underneath his disguise. The last thing he needed was
to be recognised. He was worried that the next time people might go further
than setting the dogs on him. He quickly left. On his way home he walked
past the church. He had not been to church for years. In a sudden attack of
nostalgia for the rituals and the hymns, he crept in and sat in a pew at the back.
When George was not around to blame for the terrible grey curse, the people
of Wannabe blamed God. However, they realised that there was not much
point in being too annoyed with Him as they wanted His help in returning life
to its colourful, normal state. It was easier to blame George than God. George
at least was a visible presence in the town, or at least he used to be before
he disappeared from view.
Every Sunday nearly the whole population went to church. There were so
many people that there was no room left on the wooden benches so they
had to kneel on the cold stone floor. Those who didnʼt join the congregation
congregated in the local tavern, drinking away their sorrows and blaming
George, the Mayor and God for the town being grey.
The preachers were secretly pleased by the townspeopleʼs sudden interest in
religion. Every Sunday, the collection plates were filled to overflowing. They
were able to buy the latest in horse drawn carriages and were seen travelling
around Wannabe in style.
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Every Sunday the preachers blamed the people for the grey state of the town.
“You must have sinned”, they preached over and over again. “If you donʼt
repent and mend your evil, wicked ways, the town will stay in shades of grey”.
In truth it was the fault of the people that their town was grey. But they were
not prepared to consider this possibility and nobody around town was brave
enough to voice the possibility.
The preachers were not sure if God was even listening, as the town remained
grey. But everybody hoped that God would do something about it, in His own
good time, of course.
the council
When God did not bring the colour back to Wannabe, many people
gave up going to church. The preachers had to sell their horse-drawn carriages
and rode around on donkeys instead.
In desperation the people turned to the Wannabe Council. The people
reminded the Mayor and councillors that it was their duty to cure the town of
the grey disease.
“Spend some money,” they begged the Mayor. “Set up a research institute to
find out what has caused the greyness and consult with the community, which
is why we elected you in the first place.”
“We canʼt help you,” the Mayor cried. “Nobody knows what has caused this
disaster. Weʼve already consulted the countryʼs leading experts and even
they say that nothing can be done. They advised us to stop wasting money
and time trying to find a cure. I guess we will all have to get used to being
grey. You should all be grateful that itʼs a nice shade of grey and not a nasty
shade of lime green.”
Many people left the grey town any way they could. They were pleased when
their colour returned once they were out of town. Some of them were so
desperate they walked out with their belongings on their backs. Soon the only
people who remained were those families too poor to pack up and leave, those
who loved the town, because it had been their home for many generations,
and those few individuals who were colour blind.
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Travellers took the long way around Wannabe on their way to do interesting
things in more colourful places. It was the most unpopular town in the whole
country.
But with the passing of the days, as is usually the case, time softened the
anguish of the residents of Wannabe. In time the people became used to being
grey. They forgot about trying to blame the wizard, God or the Mayor for their
colourless situation. People even gave up asking “Why?” They never thought
for a minute that it might have been their greed and apathy that had brought
on the grey disease. They had forgotten to love their town, so it turned grey
like a dying plant that has not been watered. The people were not yet prepared
to consider that the answer to the ʻwhy?ʼ question lay within themselves.
Rhiannon
There was a young couple who stayed in Wannabe because they loved
the town more than they hated being grey. They had a nine year old daughter
named Rhiannon. When she was old enough to hold a pencil, she drew pictures
on every piece of paper that came into the house. Her drawings could turn
the most ordinary things into works of art that had a magic of their own, even
if it was all in greys. Her destiny was to become an artist.
Her job was to help her parents around the house and to weed the grey
vegetable gardens. She was a good little girl and did her work willingly. But
she was always anxious to get back to her art work, which she did on the
either at the kitchen table, or on the floor in her bedroom.
One day Rhiannon asked her father, “Why is this town all grey and the other
towns all coloured?”
“I donʼt know. Itʼs a real mystery,” he replied. “A year ago this town was just like
any other town, and then after the full moon on the winterʼs night, everything
turned to grey. Itʼs been that way ever since.”
It was a story Rhiannon had heard before. Then one day she had another
question. “When I buy coloured pencil in the coloured town down the road,
all the pencils are coloured, but when I bring them home they turn to grey.
Why does this happen?”
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Her father said sadly, “I really donʼt know”. He wondered why children always
expected their parents to know everything.
But Rhiannonʼs father realised that her future was to become an artist. So he
encouraged her to practise and he hired a young boy to help in the vegetable
garden. Rhiannonʼs mother was not too sure. She would have been pleased
if Rhiannon had been interested in matters of a more domestic nature.
Meanwhile, the townspeople had become bored with doing nothing. Most
of them had given up trying to make a lot of money since the grey curse
descended on the town. They couldnʼt see any point in making money to
buy grey goods in grey shops. They were disinclined to take up the reins of
business again, just making sure they had enough money for the essentials.
When the townspeople accepted the greyness of their town, their depression
lifted. They began to socialise and get out and about. With so much time
on their hands, they began taking notice of the things that needed fixing, or
weeding or cleaning. There didnʼt seem to be much point in repainting houses
or fences as the colours always ended up in shades of grey. But the people
told each other “greyʼs great,” so there was no problem. Groups of people
had taken up walking around town picking up the papers and broken bottles.
They enjoyed doing this, it gave them the chance to talk to their neighbours.
Very soon the grey town was a happier place.
the musicians
One day a group of musicians came to town, complete with a dog
which yodelled. The organisers of the tour decided to include Wannabe, as
the musicians were curious about the grey town. It was something which they
had never seen before, and would never see again.
The citizens of Wannabe were not musically inclined, as their priorities, before
the town turned grey, were about making money. But what with having so much
time on their hands they decided to go and listen to the visiting band. George
heard about the entertainment and decided to attend. He donned his gypsy
disguise, as he was sure that people were still angry with him.
The concert was a great success. People left to go home humming and
singing the songs they had heard. The humming and singing continued well
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into the next week. Then the school mistress had a bright idea. “We could
form a band,” she said. “When I was a child I used to play the piano and Iʼll
bet that there are people in the town with a good ear for music who would be
interested in joining in.” Her listeners enthusiastically agreed.
The band was formed. The Mayor played the fiddle, something for which he
had a natural ability. The Town Clerk played the drums, as he was always
drumming up business. The Teacher played the piano. The Preacher played
the organ, which was something he did most of the time when he wasnʼt
preaching. The Librarian played the saxophone. Very soon people were
clamouring to join the band and were buying up the musical instruments in
the regional music shops.
Music became popular because the people suddenly realised that life did not
have to be all grey. They discovered that music created colours in sound. Soon
every house had at least one inhabitant who was passionate about music.
The people forgot about blaming anybody for anything. George was able to
venture forth from his house during the daylight hours. People smiled at him
and said, “Where have you been? We havenʼt seen you for absolutely ages.”
And George would reply, “I have been on a Thinkfest, all by myself. Marvellous
how refreshing a bit of solitude can be.” The people shook their heads and
said to themselves, “Heʼs still a right on fruit cake.”
the artist
Rhiannon was now eleven, going on twelve. Her passion for art had not
diminished since the town turned grey. In fact her drawings were all the better
for being in shades of grey as she had to make clever use of texture, tone and
contrast. She still drew and painted at the kitchen table, hours at a time. Her
mother often had to remind her that she had to put her work away and go to
bed, or go to school, or eat dinner or whatever.
Sometimes her mother would wring her hands and say, “Rhiannon, I donʼt
know why you insist on doing art all the time. Whatʼs the use when you canʼt
use colour.” Her mother did not understand much about art. Her mother would
then say, “Rhiannon, you donʼt even touch that beautiful guitar your dad bought
you. You could join the band you know, at least the junior section. Your Teacher
says you do have a talent for music.” But Rhiannon was not listening. She
bent over her art work with renewed devotion.
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One day Rhiannon had a good look at her drawing in the early morning light.
“Mum!” she called out, “thereʼs some colour in my drawing! Come and have
a look.” Her mother peered at the drawing through half closed eyes and said
sadly, “I canʼt see any colour. I think you have been looking at it for too long.”
But when Rhiannon showed the drawing to other people, several thought they
could see traces of colour in amongst the greys. Then one of the neighbours
came to the house and said, “I donʼt know if its my imagination, but I could
swear I could see a kind of green in the grass in my garden.”
She thought for a while and added, “But its been so long since Iʼve seen
colours, Iʼve forgotten what they look like.”
But for the first time in many years there was a feeling of hope in Wannabe.
Every time Rhiannon spent time at her drawings, people reported that they
could see traces of colour in amongst the greys.
One morning Rhiannon was bent over her drawing, concentrating with all
her energy. Suddenly the colours of the rainbow lit up the town for the first
time since it had turned grey so many years earlier. But as she grew tired
and slowed in her work, the colours faded. When she went to sleep at night,
the colours disappeared again, only to reappear the next morning when she
went back to her drawing.
A small child was watching Rhiannon drawing at the kitchen table early one
morning. For the first time in her life she saw colour, that which had appeared
in Rhiannonʼs drawings. She understood what this meant. She raced home
and told her parents all about it. People realised that there was a connection
between Rhiannonʼs drawings and the appearance and disappearance of
colour in the town.
Many flocked to Rhiannonʼs little house. They trembled in excitement as they
explained to Rhiannonʼs parents that her drawings were bringing the colour
back into their lives.
“Please, please let her draw all the time,” they begged Rhiannonʼs mother.
“But if she draws all the time she will soon become worn out with so much work,
even if she enjoyed it,” Rhiannonʼs mother protested. But the townspeople
were very insistent. So Rhiannon, who wanted to please everybody, continued
painting the town and everything in it, no matter how tiring she found it to be.
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flashes of colour
George had noticed flashes of colour in and around his house. He would
rub his eyes in disbelief. The colour came and went so quickly, he was not
sure that he had seen it at all. Then he heard about Rhiannonʼs drawing
marathons. He put two and two together and decided that there might be a
connection between her drawings and the flashes of colour. Like many of the
townspeople, he went to Rhiannonʼs house to see her at work.
As he raced home after his visit, he pulled out his magic books and re-read:
Two Part Cure On How To Restore Colour To Anything That Has
Been Contaminated By Poisonous Grey Mists.
Part 1: take one special person, put a pencil in hand and paper in
front and wait for the magic to work.
Part 2: the solution to permanent colours is only for the eyes of
the wise, for further information turn to page 101....”
The old problem of the missing page came back to haunt him. “Why is page
101 missing?” he asked himself many times. “Surely the magician who wrote
the book must have had a reason for leaving the page out.” George then
remembered other spells with missing bits, spells he had tried and failed at
because he had been unable to use his intelligence and wisdom to work out
what was missing.
Then George realised that Rhiannon was the “special person” mentioned in
the spell. “What Rhiannon is doing is magic,” George told the lab. rat. Then
he became even more puzzled, “Why do the colours fade so easily?” he
asked. That night George dreamed that the “eyes of the wise” were his own.
He woke up with a start and asked himself “Does this mean that I am wise,
as is mentioned in the spell?”
The next morning as he busied himself getting his breakfast, still puzzling
about how the “eyes of the wise” could make the colours stay forever. He
went back to his books, reading all the spells that had anything to do with
colours. When he found anything even remotely relevant he wrote it down in
his notebook. Soon he had bits and pieces of information from twenty spells
that mentioned colour.
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Next he put all his notes up on the wall. They really didnʼt make much sense.
Then one night he dreamed that he was playing with a vast jigsaw puzzle.
He spent all night arranging and rearranging the pieces. The next morning
as he was sipping his coffee, he looked at his twenty pieces of paper on the
wall pinned on the wall. “Jigsaw!” flashed through his mind and he started to
rearrange the pieces of paper.
He rearranged his notes every morning for a week before it began to make
some sort of sense. What emerged from the jumble of words was the names of
all the colours of the rainbow. There was red, green, blue, purple, chartreuse,
indigo, ultramarine and all the colours in between with even more exotic names.
But even then much information was still missing. George told himself that
“The missing bits must come from my experiences and experiments,” and as
events were to prove, he was right.
the deep sleep
Every day, as Rhiannon drew, Wannabe sparkled with all the colours of
the rainbow. The people were overjoyed. Somehow, the music did not quite
compensate for the disappearance of colours from their lives. They even
managed to find the money to buy pots of paint to paint their old houses in
the bright colours so loved by their parents and grandparents.
But every night the colours disappeared when Rhiannon slowed in her drawing
and went to bed for the night. But the greyness of the nights really didnʼt matter,
as people were not used to seeing very much in the dark, especially colours.
Then one afternoon, Rhiannon grew really tired and fell into a deep sleep,
her head resting on her drawings. She didn’t even wake up when her father
carried her to bed. She slept heavily and dreamed that the queen of colour
woke her up and crowned her the princess of colour. Then she slept through
the next day. She continued sleeping and nobody could wake her up, no matter
how much noise they made.
Rhiannonʼs parents were frantic. Her mother said to her father, “What are we
to do? The child wonʼt wake up. I knew we shouldnʼt let her work so hard.
The people of the town have demanded too much. I should have insisted that
she take more rest.”
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Her father replied in a soothing tone, “I am sure itʼs a simple case of overwork.
When she gets enough sleep, she will wake up and life will return to normal.”
But Rhiannonʼs mother was not comforted. When the sleep continued for some
days, Rhiannonʼs mother cried, “Weʼll have to call in the doctors. Oh dear!
Usually by the time they come itʼs too late and the patient is beyond their help.”
“Thatʼs not the right attitude,” Rhiannonʼs father said. “Donʼt be pessimistic.
As they say, ‘a stitch in time saves nine’, or was it ‘while there’s life there’s
hope’. No that wasn’t it. I know “your glass is half empty not half full’, no it’d
be the other way round.”
“Oh shut up old man,” his wife cried. “Iʼm not interested in what they say! I just
want Rhiannon to wake up!” And she wept into her apron.
Anyway her parents called in the doctors. One by one they tried to wake
Rhiannon up, but without success. They tutt, tutt, tutted amongst themselves
and unanimously claimed that Rhiannon had the sleeping sickness because
she had worn herself out by doing too much drawing. Her parents sadly
thought that perhaps they were right and that Rhiannon was destined to remain
a sleeping princess, that is a least until some prince turned up to do his thing.
After the failure of conventional medicine, Rhiannonʼs parents started to think
that there might be another way to awake the sleeping Rhiannon. “Perhaps
we need a magic spell to wake her,” they suggested to each other. “You never
know,” they reassured each other, “that perhaps a way-out alternatives might
just do the trick and wake her up.” They heard that George had returned, so
they decided to give him a try.
All the colours in Wannabe faded back to the old shades of grey. The
townspeople became very depressed again. Nobody laughed or smiled any
more, not even the smallest child. Meanwhile Rhiannon slept on.
the grey curse cure
When George arrived at Rhiannonʼs little house, he looked down on the
sleeping Rhiannon, wondering if he would be able to wake up the sleeping girl.
He was still a very inexperienced wizard, and by now he was a very nervous
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wizard. George thought to himself, “I must have more time to search for the
remedy to Rhiannonʼs sleeping sickness. Just as I need more time to search
for the way to make the colours Rhiannonʼs drawings bring to the town to stay.”
“I have to consult my magic books,” he told Rhiannonʼs parents. He was not
willing to risk making a mistake because other people wanted him to find quick
solutions to their problems.
“This may take me some weeks before I will have finished consulting my magic
books, so youʼll have to be patient,” he told Rhiannonʼs parents.
He looked down at Rhiannonʼs sleeping face again. “Sleep well my little one,
until I return,” he whispered in his mind, hoping that nobody heard him.
success
George returned home, his mind racing. Under his breath he repeated the
names of the colours which were in his scribbled notes on his kitchen wall.
He recalled his previous experiments with spells that had changed colours.
“Thatʼs the way to go,” he told himself. “Mix together the colours of cyan,
magenta, yellow and black, that should cover all the possible colours, mixed
well with Keepitcolour, then add ten drops of Keepawake juice, ten drops
should do it, we donʼt want to over-do it and give Rhiannon too many sleepless
nights, plus ten drops of Forgetmenot.” George had decided to include the
Forgetmenot as he did not want Rhiannon to forget him. He said out loud,
“That way, three problems will be solved with one spell. Rhiannon will wake
up from her sleep, I might eventually get a wife and the colour will come back
to the town permanently.”
He mixed up all the ingredients. The four colours when mixed together added
up to grey. He returned to Rhiannonʼs home several day later, carrying the jar
of grey ointment. “Itʼs an old grey curse antidote,” he explained. “When I rub
the ointment on her closed eyelids, sheʼll awake and all the colours will come
back to the town and it will never be grey again.” He sounded so confident
that Rhiannonʼs parents were impressed, though for a moment George did
feel a little nervous.
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He rubbed the ointment and nothing happened. For a moment George
panicked. He suddenly did not feel very confident. He really needed a big
success to reassure himself that he was indeed a wise wizard.
Rhiannonʼs parents suggested, “Perhaps you didnʼt use enough ointment.”
Then George remembered that it takes of few minutes for most spells to work.
“You must learn patience,” he told himself, over and over again. So he waited
for the spell to work, counting the minutes under his breath.
Slowly Rhiannonʼs eyes opened, a little at a time. She smiled and sat up.
“What a wonderful sleep Iʼve had,” she said. As she awoke, all the colour
returned to the room. They raced to the windows and sure enough, the colour
had returned to the town.
Then there was a loud knocking on the door. A large group of townspeople
had run to Rhiannonʼs little house. They were very excited and shouted.
“Look, all the colour has come back.” They turned to George and fired one
question after another at him.
“Did you cast a colour spell George?” a neighbour shouted.
“Will the colour remain?” the Mayor asked.
“What kind of spell was it, George?” an old man asked.
“Does Rhiannon have to go on drawing for the colour to remain?” Rhiannonʼs
mother asked anxiously.
George answered their questions with the patience of a good teacher. He
explained that the town had turned grey because it was not loved by the
townspeople. They hung their heads in shame at their former untidy, uncaring
behaviour.
Then George told them that the cure for the grey curse was the combination
of talent with wisdom, which was distilled in an ointment with other secret
ingredients. He was not about to give them all the details. “Iʼve got to keep the
mystery intact. This is an example of the ʻneed to knowʼ principle,” he thought.
“But,” George added, saving the most important part of the spell for last. “If
you had not started to love your town again, none of this would have been
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possible. You and your town would have remained grey forever. Your love for
your town did the trick.” The people fell silent with the awful implications of
what George was saying. Then their joy in Wannabeʼs rainbow colours rose
to new heights.
“You are indeed a real artist,” they cried to Rhiannon. “And you are indeed a
wise wizard,” they cried to George.
They carried George and Rhiannon around on their shoulders, through the
streets of old Wannabe and then to the new Wannabe which was being built
on the hills. They cheered and clapped and danced and drank many bottles of
Coca Cola, as the grey grapes didnʼt make very good wine. The celebrations
went on all day and well into the night. In fact it was many days and nights
before anybody went to bed. After that, Wannabe kept its colours.
Very soon everybody wanted to live there and the town became the most
famous tourist destination in the country. Tourists came and peered at the grey
photos in the town museum which showed Wannabe in its grey year. Actually
the photographs were taken before the invention of colour photography, but
nobody complained.
the end
George waited nine years for Rhiannon to grow up and when she was twentyone
and he was thirty one, they were married in the old town church which
the residents had painted red to match the outfits worn by the happy couple.
However, the priest remained stubornly grey which he argued was most
appropriate.
Then Rhiannon and George had a few children, who kept on getting lost in the
large castle that Rhiannon build with the money she earned from selling her
drawings. .Rhiannon had becoe famous throughout the country as the artist
who painted the colours back into Wannabe. Her family was very proud of
her. Though there were times when her mother said, “Youʼd better remember
that your family needs you too,” whenever Rhiannon disappeared into her
studio for long periods.
George grew more wise and more magical. When anything went wrong, the
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Mayor would call on him to put it right with a touch of magic. In fact, George
became fully employed putting things right as the townʼs leader had a gift for
complicating the most simple of matters.
Rhiannon made so much money selling her paintings, she was able to send
George to the Magiciansʼ University for Advanced Studies and their children
off to posh boarding schools in the city.
The Mayor and the Councillors voted to change the townʼs name from Wannabe
to Betterbe. The town was never grey again and its band became a symphony
orchestra which was famous throughout the country.
And they all lived happily ever after. The people who reverted back to being
greedy and lazy were given no choice but to shape up or ship out. Betterbe
won the Tidy Towns Award for the next hundred years. Nobody knows what
happened after that as it just hadnʼt happened yet.
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CAROLINE AMBRUS
I was born in 1938 in Kyogle, NSW. I worked as a librarian in the Commonwealth
Public Service during the 1960s. During the seventies I studied art and completed
a Bachelor of Education.
I have periodically taught Art in Canberra’s schools and colleges.
I established my imprint of irrePRESSible Press and thereafter published
“Australian Women Artists, First Fleet to 1945” in 1992 and “The Unseen Art
Scene” in 1995.
Concurrently with my writing and publishing career, I have also worked
as a practising and exhibiting artist with solo shows at Barry Stern’s Gallery,
Sydney in 1982 and Profile Gallery, Melbourne in 1984, plus participating in
many group shows.
I have written, illustrated and published my own children’s stories as well
as co-authoring and illustrating the work of others. My ambition is to publish
quality children’s books that cover issues of concern to readers, both young and
old.
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FLIGHT OF THE FAT FAIRY
written by Caroline Ambrus
and Graeme Hume, illustrated
by Caroline Ambrus
BLACK DOG BLUES
written and illustrated by
Caroline Ambrus
THE YEAR OF THE MEAN
QUEEN
written by Caroline Ambrus
and Graeme Hume,
illustrated by Caroline Ambrus
BLACK JACK
written by Maureen Burdett,
illustrated by Annette
Schneider
This is a poem about a fat
fairy who wanted to fly. She
is teased by the thin fairies
and her life is very unhappy.
Then one day she met up
with some kindly griffins.
They gave her good advice
and a helping hand. She
finally learns to fly and her
self esteem improves.
irrePRESSible Press, ISBN
0-9586896-4-4
Sarahʼs best friend was
her old dog, Lady. When
Lady died, she became
very lonely. She searched
everywhere for another
dog to replace her. Then
she found two black dogs,
Bo and Billie, at the animal
shelters. They came to live
with her and filled her life
with many problems, but
much joy.
irrePRESSible Press, ISBN
0-9586896-3-6
Once upon a time, bees had
no wings. One day a baby
bee was hatched which had
wings. When she grew up,
she was crowned the first
queen of the bees. This
multi-layered, political satire
is suitable for children, as
well as adults.
irrePRESSible Press, ISBN
0-9587979-9-4
Performance poetry
for children that are a
delightful combination of
rhythm and rhyme, which
will take both performers
and listeners on a roll from
the deadly serious to side
splitting comedy.
irrePRESSible Press, ISBN
0 9577375-7-2
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